


Opening Up the Closed

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Brief/Mild Suggestive Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, LV Issues, Love Confessions, M/M, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: Getting a strange call to "talk some sense" into Edge is certainly one way for Stretch to wake up from a nap. But he isn't going to complain too much... not when it means spending more time with his crush.But with Edge's LV acting up, helping him out might be harder than it seems.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale), Spicyhoney
Comments: 23
Kudos: 61





	Opening Up the Closed

It’s a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming… on days like these, skeleton monsters like Stretch…

Are one hundred percent napping on the sofa, with a seventy-three percent chance of his drool staining the cushion beneath his head.

Look. The Surface is great and all, it really is. Sunshine is pretty neat, as is the immense (and sometimes overwhelming) sense of freedom brought on by all that new, limitless space. Sometimes, though, the whole ‘basking in the glory of no longer being stuck Underground’ thing gets old. Tiring. And in Stretch's humble opinion, nothing beats a good ol’ nap to better appreciate what he’s got. Or that’s his defense, at least, should anyone get after him about it, and he’s sticking with it.

Plus, napping in a sunbeam is a new joy that Stretch is going to exploit for as long as he can.

So, yeah. He is gratefully enjoying the chance to snooze in his new home — in the monster community that is aptly named Newest Home, because it turns out that awful place-naming is a monster tradition that isn’t dying out anytime soon — with no responsibilities to ruin his peace and quiet. Gone are the days of schlepping along to sentry duty with Blue bouncing at his heels, eager to capture and befriend any potential humans. Nah. These days, not only does he have some steady employment that is more along his alley, but said employment comes with veritable days off. Thank the lucky stars for whatever humans came up with the concept of a weekend, because fuck knows that he could have used them back in the old days. 

Right now, Stretch has absolutely no responsibilities other than the basic requirements to keep himself alive and healthy. And that, dear friends, means nap time.

Well, at least it does until his phone starts ringing, startling him out of the bliss that is unconsciousness.

Damn it.

Fumbling, Stretch manages to grab his phone without sending it tumbling to the ground. Lucky for him; the longer he can stay lying down, the better. A smile manages to cut through his grogginess, his eye sockets happily falling shut when he sees the name listed on the call display: Edge.

“hey,” he mumbles through a yawn, scrubbing a hand over his skull in a half-hearted attempt to get the thinking stirred up. This, honestly, is a good excuse to interrupt some sleep. Getting to listen to Edge’s voice? Fantastic. _Especially_ when Edge was the one to initiate contact. Something about that makes Stretch’s soul warm in a way that is completely unrelated to the layers of cozy blankets he’s buried under. “what’s up?”

“c’mere and deal with your dumbass boyfriend for me.”

All of a sudden, Stretch sits up, brow furrowed. Unless this is some kind of weird dream brought on by binging too many of those extra spicy cheesies things, something’s up. “red? is that you?”

“who else, honeybun?”

Okay, fair point. But more importantly… “what’re you doing on edge’s phone?”

“right now, i’m busy talkin’ with an asshole who’s asking dumb questions instead of trustin’ me and dealin’ with his fucking boy-toy.”

Face heating, Stretch chooses to ignore the fact that blindly trusting in Red seems like a mistake waiting to happen. “uh, he’s not my boy-toy. or boyfriend.” Even though… well, a guy can dream, right?

“uh huh,” Red says skeptically. Stretch can practically _hear_ the gremlin rolling his eye lights over the phone. Asshole. “my point still stands. just get over here and see if you can talk some sense into my idiot of a lil bro for me.”

Before Stretch can go off with all the questions that are spinning through his head — what, exactly is wrong? Why does Red think that Stretch can help more than he would be able to? Can he take enough time to try and wake up, maybe grab a coffee to go? Or is this more of a ‘can’t even take a second to shove some shoes on his feet’ kinda vibe? — Red hangs up on him. Which is a real shame. He’s not particularly feeling up to playing Sherlock right now.

He stands up, groaning as the magic between every single vertebra decides to pop loudly in protest. Welp. It’s not like he has solid plans for the rest of the day. He guesses there’s no harm in seeing what the edgelord’s up to. Especially if it is as urgent as Red is making it seem. 

Okay, yeah, he’s not gonna kid himself; even in the worst-case scenario, Stretch still has a solid chance of getting to spend time with Edge. That’s always a big plus in his book. There’s no chance of him _not_ going.

It takes a few shortcuts to get to Edge’s street, his magic feeling more than a little strained and achy, but hey, that’s what granola bars and fruit snackies are for. Plus, he did have that nice nap before coming, which is a definite boost in the energy department. With a deliberate casualness, Stretch makes his way up to the house. Being a flustered mess of bones is pretty unlikely to help either of them. Might as well practice now, get in the mindset of someone who has come to help out and will be able to tackle the situation at hand. Oh, and the mindset of someone who doesn’t have an overwhelmingly, _stupidly_ big crush on Edge, who probably thinks of him as a friend at best. 

Yeah. 

That could be helpful.

Stretch enters the garage, shivering as he bypasses the traps. He will never get used to the feeling of the magical shields that Edge and Red insist upon having up at all times; it just feels _wrong_ passing through them, even if he knows he’s on the shortlist of accepted people. But after sharing a living space with them and this verse’s Sans and Papyrus for months, it isn’t that bad. Not anymore. Their weirdness about extensive security measures is just another checkmark on his to-do list of things to do before finding out what the fuck is going on with Edge.

Carefully, Stretch wipes his feet on the appropriate mat, even though he’s fairly certain his crocs are clean enough. The last thing he needs is to add a new layer of… something to Edge’s day. Again, since _someone_ didn’t feel like sharing the deets, he still isn’t sure what’s up. Maybe he can just stick with another layer of nope; that seems appropriate for a decent amount of contexts. Briefly, he considers taking his shoes off completely, but eh, there’s a lot of cold tiling in this place. Lots of cold tiling and his socks are thin. Why not keep that extra layer of protection to his poor tootsies?

Stepping into the house proper, Stretch feels safe in making a few observations. First off, most of the lights seem to be on, but it’s weirdly quiet. No music or cooking shows in the background. No enticing aroma of freshly baked goods or sautéing onions. None of the normal signs of Edge’s presence. But there’s also no screaming or bone attacks sticking in the walls or some shit, so it could be worse?

“edge?” he calls out, wandering into the main hall. In response, the void-like pile of fur that Edge calls a cat decides to trail around his ankles. Well, that’s something at least. Kneeling down to scritch her behind the ears — carefully, since he refuses to forget that the cute little hellion has teeth sharper than Edge’s and Red’s combined — Stretch croons to her, “hey, d’you know where your daddy is?”

In response, she lets out a little chirp. He watches as she hops onto the narrow side table, purring as she curls up next to what Edge calls ‘Red’s large bowl of chaos’. And, he may not be the most fluent in spoiled cat, but Stretch can make a pretty decent guess that it wasn’t a ‘little Timmy fell into the well’ kinda noise. Shame. That would’ve made life a lot easier. 

A bit louder, Stretch tries calling out Edge’s name again. 

And again. 

And again.

“c’mon, edgelord. help me out here,” he half pleads, leaning against the wall. “i know you’re somewhere.”

From the direction of what Edge has been calling the storage closet, a strained voice answers him — _finally_. “Go away!”

Hmmm… 

Moving slowly, he approaches the closet. Is he going against Edge’s wishes? Yeah, he guesses. But, damn it, Stretch is _worried_ now. Something about his tone just rings a bell of wrongness. It’s not one that sounds like Edge. He sounds… anxious? That can’t be right — he’s talking about _Edge_ here, after all — but what else could it be?

Quietly, he raps twice on the door. “i’m gonna open this, okay,” he warns; the last thing he needs is an impromptu shanking because Edge wasn’t expecting it and gets jumpy.

Edge growls, likely a precursor to another snarled order to leave. It’s too late, though. The closet is opened, removing the barrier between him and Stretch, who can’t help but gasp at the sight.

Edge is curled up in the corner, all of the storage bins and towels and linens and whatever the fuck else towered precariously to the other side. Hiding tight, he’s taking up too little space for a skeleton of his size. Stretch’s soul _aches_ witnessing it.

“edge…?”

“Stay away!” he gasps. Magic gathers at his hands, burning hot enough for Stretch to feel from where he stands. “I’ll hurt you!” Warning, but also pleading. Desperation pierces through his sneer, his eye lights constricted and burning into Stretch.

Taking a step closer — and trying not to overthink the way that Edge manages to squeeze himself further into his corner, the way it stings to see that — Stretch kneels down. “what’s going…” He trails off, realisation blooming. LV. Edge has LV. He _knows_ this. And LV flare-ups are a thing, although Stretch has never witnessed Edge having one; when they all lived together, the Underfell bros were too good at finding convenient excuses for everyone to be elsewhere, finding out only long after it had blown over. Stretch changes his question. “what can i do to help?”

The haze of burning red fades from Edge’s hands. Good, but this allows Stretch to see that he’s digging his ungloved fingers deep into his palms. And considering how sharply clawed those phalanges of his are, that’s a bit concerning. Edge shakes his head, stubbornly repeating, “I’ll hurt you.”

Stretch chooses not to argue this — probably a smart decision, even if he highly disagrees. Don’t get it wrong, he knows the edgelord could do a lot of damage if he wanted to (although Stretch prefers not to dwell on this too much), but _want_ is the keyword here. Edge has so much control over himself. Always, even if Edge doesn’t always believe it. 

That, of course, is why he can’t openly disagree, though. Debating it will get them nowhere fast. And he can’t stand the idea of just leaving Edge there longer while they bicker over the fact that he’s definitely not gonna hurt Stretch. Instead, he tries to think of what he might like in Edge’s shoes. Something that could help him mellow out.

Strategy is supposed to be better than flying by the seat of his pants, right?

Edge would think so, anyway.

Problem is, he’s got nothing. Wasting time overthinking also isn’t gonna be helpful. Until he can come up with something better, Stretch decides to reach out a hand, suggesting, “hey, why don’t we get you to the couch? getcha all nice and comfy, huh?”

“No!” he exclaims, head shaking even more than before. So much for that idea. “It’s not safe.”

By that, does Edge mean that the rest of the house isn’t safe? That it doesn’t _feel_ safe yet, and that seems vaguely plausible. It would explain the whole hiding in the closet thing, anyways. Stretch hasn’t gone and taken notes to compare details of childhood experiences between each pair of brothers, but he can remember holing up with Blue after… after… after something? When they were little more than babybones, yeah. Far too young and with no one but each other. Finding back alleys in the capital, tight caves near the dump in Waterfall. Anywhere that wasn’t too open and exposed, that always felt like a safer place to hide out. He would be more than a little surprised if that didn’t end up being a shared experience in Underfell. Given what he knows about the place, Stretch sure would prefer keeping close quarters.

He hopes that’s the case. Better than the (far more probable) idea that Edge thinks that he himself is the one that isn’t safe, that he refuses to move because his LV might result in harm. Edge shouldn’t need to worry about that.

“alrighty,” is what Stretch finally decides to say. “i’ll be right back, ‘kay?” Joints creaking, he stands up. He _will_ find a way to make the best of the situation. 

For Edge. 

With no objections coming from the edgelord, Stretch sets off on his mission through the house. Grabbing some snacks, some water, some pillows… maybe some books and this weird sphere puzzle doohickey? Fuck if he knows, but it has to be better than nothing. Anything to make the closet a better hidey-hole until Edge decides to come out.

It's a tight fit, bringing everything in to a bewildered edgelord. Still, Stretch starts to rush off for more, only to be stopped as his wrist is snagged from the depths of the closet.

A surge of panic rushes to Stretch's throat. He doesn't _want_ it to. Yeah, he has more than a strong suspicion that Edge's LV is acting up, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't trust him, damn it! In spite of this, he freezes like a gyftrot in the gyftmas lights.

Well, Edge has always complained that monsters in this world have absolutely no survival instincts. Stretch may not be from here originally, but he’s pretty sure the sentiment would apply to him as well; he’s a non Underfell monster. His reluctant flinch probably counts as some kind of deep-set instinct, so kudos to him? Gotta impress the crush somehow.

Still, he doesn’t want Edge to think he’s scared of him, so he tries for a casual tone. “what’s up, edgelord?”

A complicated slurry of emotions passes over Edge’s face, too fast even for him to decipher. His grip lessens, though it remains firm. If he wanted, Stretch could pull away. Edge gives him that chance. His eye lights constricted to pinpricks, he fastidiously keeps his gaze on Stretch. What he looks for, Stretch will never know. All he knows is the sound of Edge swallowing, the pause of a blink, and then, “Stay with me?”

Oh.

A weird pulse of… well, Stretch isn’t exactly sure what to call this particular smorgasbord of emotions, but it definitely hits him hard. Some of it is probably the gooshy feelings speaking — angel knows he’s more than a little pumped to have a reason to spend some up-close time with him — but it’s more than just the normal butterflies he gets around Edge. Something deeper. All he knows that, once the mental gears get spinning again, he finds himself automatically settling down in the nest beside him. It takes some effort to wipe some of the pleasant surprise from his face, but oh well.

“whatever floats your boat, edgelord.”

It takes a bit of kicking to get his section of the nest as comfy as he would like it, but Edge doesn’t seem to mind much. Then again, sitting this close, Stretch can hear the overly steady cadence of Edge’s breathing, an almost perfect in for four seconds, held in for four more, and then slowly released through his mouth. Trying his damnedest to keep himself together, probably. Nonchalantly, Stretch reaches in his pocket for his phone. Edge has always been unreasonably fond of sea shanties. The more authentic sounding — which, personally, Stretch thinks means sounding slightly haunted, like the crew of a ghost ship singing with the sirens that brought them to their doom — the better. One of these days, he’s gonna tease Edge that he was the wrong kind of captain to be into these songs.

One of these days, but probably not today. Today, Stretch isn’t sure if Edge’d be up for the joke, so he just selects the appropriate playlist and hits play. At the first notes, a baritone leading into a rich chorus of singers, a shudder runs through him, some of his tension melting. 

“Talk to me,” Edge says, not quite an order, his eyes squeezed shut.

Turning the volume on his phone down a notch or two, Stretch nods. “sure thing.”

And he does. Stretch talks until his voice becomes hoarse, continuing past that with a quick sip from one of the water bottles Edge hasn’t touched and a mental promise to drink some honey-rich tea tonight to help soothe his raw throat. He talks about anything and everything, from his feelings on the letter Q to the most recent movie binge he and Blue had gone on, even to some basic physics lessons when he starts running out of ideas. In this one-sided conversation, Stretch goes through his year’s quota of speech — and then some.

As Stretch is in the middle of taking a breath, Edge finally speaks up, interrupting a venture into a verbal dissertation extolling the benefits of buying custom shoelaces instead of sticking with the boring, ill-fitting ones that usually come with shoes. 

“Thank you,” he sighs. “That’s enough.”

“okay.”

A moment’s pause. Not even the music serves a buffer to the silence, the transition between one song ending and the next beginning taking an abnormal amount of time. Stretch doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say. Not without a forced joke, trying to lighten the situation, and somehow he gets the feeling that this isn’t really a good time for a pun.

“I apologise for my behaviour,” Edge finally says, stilted as all hell while he’s looking off to the side. You know, the one with the completely bareass wall of boringness. Still carefully avoiding eye contact with Stretch, he continues, “You can go now.”

Yeah, no. Stretch isn’t buying this one. Not today.

Trying to exude enough chillness to turn chocolate milk into nice cream, Stretch leans back against the wall. He can’t say how much of a success it is; gauging an audience’s reaction is a lot harder when they aren’t watching the show. “nah, i’m good here.” He bites his tongue before going for the hard question. “wanna talk about it?”

Honestly, he doesn’t really expect Edge to answer. Angel knows that Stretch usually doesn’t like chatting about the reason why he’s been freaking out with whoever has been wrangled into dealing with it. Not to say that he was wrangled into helping Edge — wait, well _technically_ he was. The point is, he was happily ‘wrangled’ out of his own free will, yippee ki yay and all that jazz. And Edge, who is always so extremely cautious about giving away sensitive information, is probably gonna shut him down.

So, Stretch can’t help but blink, taken aback, when Edge haltingly admits, “My LV. It has been acting up lately. More than it should.”

Stretch swallows back a handful of questions. It’s so, _so_ tempting to ask if Edge knows why it’s acting up, what could be prompting it, et cetera, et cetera. But the edgelord’s finally opening up about it. He doesn’t want to ruin it by opening his big mouth. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets, fidgeting away from Edge’s line of vision so he can keep on with his hesitant sharing.

“It terrifies me. Back home, in Underfell —” he clarifies, adding to the pained knot growing in Stretch’s throat, “— it wasn’t rare for monsters to lose themselves. To fall completely to violence, letting it consume them completely, unable to care about what the fallout could be.” Now, he turns back to face Stretch, a bitter smile crooking up the corner of his mouth on the unscarred side of his face. “You don’t want to know how much of my own LV was caused because of _those_ monsters.”

“edge,” he whispers, the thread of sound escaping involuntarily.

He keeps going. “But now we’re both in this world. If I fall to my LV, the monsters here wouldn’t know what to do until it’s too late. Red would be the only one who would understand, and I can’t do that to him. I _can’t_. And angel have mercy on us all if I harm a human.”

Yeah, Edge doesn’t need to spell out all the anxiety-inducing consequences of that one. LV may not be common here, definitely not when compared to Underfell, but as Stretch hears it, there are still a few soldiers from the war kicking around. Plus, even though monsters are made of kindness and compassion and whatever, Stretch was the Judge in his own universe. He _knows_ that monsters can find ways to gain LV. And that’s all assuming that humans wouldn’t just assume the worst of every monster, all the way down to baby moldsmols.

Hugging Edge is instinctive. Partially because of growing up with Blue, who has been pro-hug since he was the tiniest little babybones, partially because he has no clue of what else to do or say. As soon as he realizes _who_ he’s hugging, though, he pulls back a bit uneasily. Edge… probably won’t be cool with that. Not when he’s spilling his guts about being scared about hurting someone because of his LV acting up.

And then he goes to prove Stretch’s guess wrong by pulling him back in, all the way until they’re both curled up nicely into the closet.

And it’s nice. It’s really nice. Edge is warm, and not just because of the slight stickiness of sweat from his flare-up. Kinda like a blanket fresh from the dryer, even if the blanket needs a bit more time to fully dry. Plus, the spice of his magic is all the stronger for it. Comforting and cozy, Stretch breathes it in.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like this. Edge’s breathing has shifted from that artificially perfect rhythm to something softer, matching Stretch’s own breath. His arms, still in Edge’s tight embrace, are threatening at a staticky numbness, but he’s ignoring that for now. He’s cool to keep holding Edge and be held back.

Which is probably why he accidentally sabotages it all, blurting out, “uh, since we’re having this whole moment of honesty and all, i should prob’ly say something.”

Instantly, he is filled with regrets. So many regrets. All of them, really, made worse when Edge loosens the hug, prompting them to fully look at each other. “Stretch?” he asks quietly, worry creasing his brows, and oh stars, this really isn’t what he was going for, but it’s kinda hard to back out now.

“well…” he stalls. His face feels so hot, a hint that he’s probably blushing bright enough to power up the Core. The smart thing to do would be to think of a quick half-truth, something honest to share but nowhere near as stupid. But the truth tumbles through his mouth before he can stop it. 

“so, it’s actually kinda funny, right? that we’re sitting here right now. in a closet. as you do.”

“Stretch?” Okay, yeah, Edge is definitely worried. Probably a good idea to rip the bandaid off as quickly as possible, as unappealing as it sounds.

“i’m getting there, just give me a minute. it’s just… _fuck_ , this is awkward. well, uh, i guess the best way to say it is that i have a super big gay crush on you and now that you know, i should probably go, right? and we can both forget that i ever said this. i’m glad you’re feeling a bit better, edgelord. if you’re ever needing anyone to talk to, you can always let me know, unless i made things too weird. so... call me? wait, shoot, not like that. i’m... just gonna…”

He stands up, ready to shortcut as far as his magic will bring him. Only, it seems that Edge has something else in mind than letting him leave in shame; he tugs on Stretch’s arm. To make things even more awkward, this time his foot catches on a pillow, sending him tumbling into Edge’s lap. Which, he might add, is both the first and the last place he wants to be right now.

Edge takes a moment to rearrange their limbs a smidge. Taking a deep breath, he looks down at Stretch, who can’t meet his gaze back. “Are you fucking with me?” he asks, his voice a weird combination of disbelief and… something. Stretch can hear it in his voice, there’s something more and so very distinct, but he can’t bear to look up at him to figure it out.

“no.”

“Are you _sure_?”

Despite himself, Stretch laughs a little at that. “hey, do you think i’d wanna spew all this awkward sauce for a joke? c’mon. i do have _some_ standards.”

Out of the corner of his vision, he catches the edgelord smirking. “I suppose you do.” And oh, Stretch can catch onto that dry humour. A genuine grin makes its way onto his own face just as it disappears from Edge’s. “So this is the truth, then. You really have… feelings for me?”

“yeah.” He quickly traces an X over his chest with his finger. “promise.”

Stretch barely finishes saying the last syllable before Edge is on him, smothering his mouth in a silencing kiss.

And fuck, that doesn’t feel like a pity kiss, given as some kind of a weird let down or a thank you for spending time with him when he was upset. Oh stars no! Stretch can taste the pure emotion as their mouths meet. A warmth that goes further than body heat, and Stretch can’t help but sigh into it. Tenderness, he decides dazedly. Tenderness and affection and fuck, this makes his earlier babbling so worth it. 

This close to him, Stretch swears he can feel the fondness radiating straight from Edge’s soul.

He can’t help but feel a pulse of disappointment when Edge eventually ends their kiss. Sure, the logical part of him knows that they can’t spend the rest of their lives with their mouths locked together, but stars, right now he wishes they could. It would be more than worth it.

Edge’s cheekbones are tinted a deep pink, blushing just as brightly as Stretch feels like he is himself. Eye lights hazy, he murmurs, “Me too.”

“huh?” Stretch says, blinking. It takes him a sec or two to figure out what Edge means. In his own defense, it was a really good kiss. Edge shakes his head fondly. “oh!”

Well, Stretch might be a little biased — just a smidge — but that declaration deserves another kiss. So, he gives one, sighing silently as Edge meets his mouth. And maybe a bonus one just for funsies. Or two. 

The point is, as long Edge is up for it, Stretch is ready for all the kisses, please and thank you.

After a wonderful eternity, Edge stops, the back of his head thudding against the closet wall as he takes a long, shuddering breath. “Fuck.” His voice is raspy, and sexy as all hell.

“yeah,” he shivers, drawing the word out. “fuck.”

Sweet silence reigns as they stare at each other, wide-eyed. Stretch can feel a trickle of sweat making its way down his skull. His chest heaves as he works on catching his breath. It’s beyond tempting to say ‘screw it’ and get back to thoroughly making out with Edge. The only thing reining him in is the fact that can’t see himself having the restraint to slow things down; the last thing either of them need is for Red to decided to wander back to check on his bro and find out that he got over his LV flare while they’re busy getting hot and heavy in a closet. 

Based on the heat in Edge’s expression, Stretch probably isn’t alone there. “We should get out of here.”

Oh, Stretch tries to hold his laughter. He really does. But it’s just been such a wild ride, from the phone call interrupting his nap to the surprise LV freakout to crashing his way into confessing his less than platonic affections for the edgelord. He smothers his mouth with his hand, but bare bones aren’t exactly the best at hiding sounds. Giggling uncontrollably, he can’t stop even when Edge squints at him, bemused.

Leaning forward, Stretch rests his forehead against the edgelord’s shoulder. He squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on catching his breath. His voice is a bit shaky when he starts explaining, but what can he do? “sorry, it’s just—” Stretch shakes his head, trying to push back a fresh burble of laughter. “oh man, it’s just that you’re saying that we need to get out of the closet. you know, coming out of the closet. after we just, you know…” He waves his hand around vaguely, unsure if Edge is down with the idea of being boyfriends and all that jazz; just because he’s on the same page about having feelings and spent some good amount of time sucking face with him, that doesn’t mean that dating is a step he’s ready for.

Edge groans. “I can’t believe…” he trails off, muttering something incoherent about puns under his breath. But when Stretch looks up, there’s an amused glint to his eye lights and the corners of his mouth are threatening to twitch up into an almost smile. “Come on now, you ridiculous thing. I’ve been too unsettled to eat until now, and I would like some _real_ food,” he says, giving a meaningful look to the prepackaged things Stretch brought in. “And I know you’re rarely one to turn down free food. Let’s see what I have in the kitchen.”

Score! Stretch untangles himself in a flurry of limbs. As soon as he is solidly on his feet, he offers a hand to help the edgelord up. Edge accepts, grimacing; poor guy has been cramped in there for who knows how long, after all. Stretch’s spine wants to yell some complaints just thinking about it. Despite that, Edge jumps to his feet with a coordination Stretch wouldn’t be able to replicate even in his wildest dreams. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, raising their joined hands. Like the smoothest, gentlemanliest of suave romantic dudes, he places a soft kiss against Stretch’s knuckles. Something like that shouldn’t be enough for his knees to go jigglier than a moldsmal during an earthquake. But hey, you learn new things every day.

Still holding hands, Stretch swings their arms as they start off to the kitchen. There is food to be had, and most likely important conversations to go along with it. After stumbling their way into this, Edge’ll probably want to make sure that they’re both on the same track. But for now? All Stretch wants to do is enjoy this moment together, out in the open at last.


End file.
